


The Quickest Way To A Mans Heart Is To Save His Ass On Assignments That Also Kinda Double As Dates

by IHaveNothingToDo



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, M/M, PLEASE NOTE THAT I KNOW DIDDLY SQUAT ABOUT SPIES, THAT BEING SAID, also a proposal, it's spy shenanigans, that's the fic, that's. that's it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 01:58:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18022670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IHaveNothingToDo/pseuds/IHaveNothingToDo
Summary: Kuroo would just like to state. For the official record. That absolutely none of this was his idea and he should not be charged for any of the damages those two cause, it was supposed to be a once in a while thing!!!





	The Quickest Way To A Mans Heart Is To Save His Ass On Assignments That Also Kinda Double As Dates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluphacelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluphacelia/gifts).



The first time they meet is in an exclusive club in Tokyo.

The night has been long and tedious, but his winning formula consisting sweet-talking, copious amounts of alcohol, and ridiculous smouldering glances thrown at regular intervals to his companion is finally paying off. His victim for the night— the young girlfriend of Nobuteru Irihata, the latter being his real target— seems to be reasonably intoxicated and hopelessly infatuated; her face is flushed scarlet, her mouth is parted slightly, and her breaths are coming out in little hitches. Oikawa pats himself on the back— a little prematurely, as he will soon learn— on yet another smooth mission, and decides to go straight for the kill.

“I could get us a room,” he whispers huskily, and feels her shiver with every syllable he breathes into her ear.

When she gazes up at him he sees fear and uneasiness lingering at the corners of her eyes— Irihata  _ is _ a powerful man after all—  even amidst the alcohol induced stupor. Oikawa smiles, presses his hips against her, and watches as every last bit of hesitation and resistance melts away from her face. The easy part starts now; transferring the information from her phone will be ridiculously easy once they are safe in a dingy hotel room, and with a little luck he might not even have to remove his pants.

Oikawa slips his arms around the waist of his prey, and is just about to leave when someone walks up to him, stops dead in their tracks, and promptly throws an entire glass of martini squarely onto his shirt.

Oikawa swears inwardly; the entire mission had been going far too smoothly, and he really should have anticipated this. The assaulter screeches wildly and immediately breaks into an incoherent string of what seems to be thickly accented Mandarin. It’s dark in the club and the only light source is the epilepsy-inducing strobe lights flashing on the ceiling, but Oikawa can briefly make out a broad shoulders leading into a handsome face, and the angry scowl twisting those features.

“It’s okay,” Oikawa tells him, but Tall, Dark, and Handsome has him in a vice grip. Oikawa tries to pull away and is met with surprising strength. The other man seems to be apologizing profusely, and is gesturing wildly towards the general direction of the toilet, seemingly adamant on bringing him there. Oikawa realizes with mild alarm that he will eventually haul him over manually and rip his shirt off if he doesn’t comply, so he turns over to Irihata’s girlfriend who is currently standing with her arms akimbo, all impatient and displeased, and tells her to wait for him.

He is half-led, half-dragged to the toilet. He turns to the man and opens his mouth to shoo him away— what Oikawa doesn’t expect is this unfairly strong guy literally shoving him into the single-cubicle toilet and slamming the door shut behind them, before turning the lock with a loud click.

Realization suddenly dawns upon Oikawa. It isn’t the first time something like this has happened, he thinks to himself, somewhat aggrieved. It’s one of the very few drawbacks that comes with being ridiculously handsome.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m really not into you,” he begins, which is a blatant lie but Oikawa  _ is _ on a mission here. The other man ignores him completely, untucks his shirt with one rough movement, and shoves his entire arm up Oikawa’s shirt with a force that can rival testosterone-filled gorillas during mating season.

Okay, now this is just getting ridiculous. “Stop,” he says again, but his protest is cut off as the guy produces a bugging device from underneath his shirt and slams his palms against Oikawa’s face in a bid to shut him up.

Now this is a plot twist.

Irihata's girlfriend must've slipped it in while they were making out; so they’ve actually been playing along. Oikawa curses inwardly for the second time that night. How could he have been so careless? The other man slowly releases his hand from his mouth, and, without warning, starts to spew out a string of unintelligible Chinese mingled with random moaning noises. He raises his eyebrows at Oikawa, brown eyes flashing dangerously, and beckons for him to join in.

Right. They’re still being bugged.

Feeling somewhat self conscious, Oikawa opens his mouth and finds it in him to let out an erotic sigh, followed by a string of ‘mm yes oh yes yes right there.’ The other (still  _ unfairly attractive _ ) guy looks at him and has the sheer audacity to roll his eyes, before gesturing to the window at the top of wall, above the toilet bowl. He flips down the toilet seat, hoists himself up to the ledge with surprising grace and strength, and turns to Oikawa.

_ Louder  _ , he mouths.  _ I need to remove the grills. _

Oikawa nods and raises his voice by a few decibels, and watches as the guy reaches into his shirt and, somewhat miraculously, produces a screwdriver and an assortment of other curious looking contraptions.

It takes him all of seventy seconds before the grills are detached from the window, but Oikawa thinks that it is sixty-nine seconds too long because he is running out of steam and his moaning now sounds dangerously like a hippopotamus being sawed into half. There is also the pertinent fact that you can only say ‘baby ooh baby’ so many times before you start to sound dangerously like a bad pop song. The guy slams the hearing bug down on the sink, and, with a fluid motion, slips right through the window.

Oikawa follows. He misgauges the distance from the window to the floor, and lands somewhat unceremoniously onto the ground. He scrambles quickly to his feet and looks around, expecting to see broad shoulders and frowning brown eyes, but is met with an empty alley, and the stillness of the night.

.

.

.

ii.

Oikawa learns his name two days later.

“His name is Iwaizumi, and we sent him to cover your back,” Kuroo says by way of explanation after Oikawa'd stormed into his office questioning the other man about ‘the grumpy buff one’. Kuroo slips him a single black file, smirk dancing over his lips. They’ve been friends and coworkers for years, Oikawa know what that smirk means. Nothing good that’s what. “His particulars are inside the file. Memorize everything and shred it up.”

Oikawa doesn’t need any espionage related intuition to see where this is going, and he doesn’t like it one bit. “And I need to know because…?”

Kuroo full on smiles smiles, flashing the sharp of his teeth. Oikawa has a feeling that the other man probably hasn’t forgiven him for the last time he’d put laxatives into his superior’s mayonnaise sandwich. ‘You’re going as a married man for the next mission.’

.

.

.

They meet at the airport. Oikawa joins him at the departure gate, armed with nothing but a suitcase and a healthy, not-unfounded dose of apprehension and dread. Iwaizumi is wearing a smooth pressed button down and soft looking slacks that do  _ wonders  _ for his ass but Oikawa has seen enough to know that the softness probably ends there and the ass part only gets worse.

“ _ Baby _ ,” he says as Oikawa approaches him, and Oikawa thinks that it's amazing how he can turn a term of endearment into something that sounds like a vulgar swear word being tossed in a dodgy back-alley. He pulls him into an embrace, although it feels more like he is being choked to death by a giant squid. Oikawa makes up his mind never to put laxatives into Kuroo’s sandwiches ever again.

Oikawa Tooru is many things (heart-stopping casanova, charmer of the masses, estrogen magnet, every married man’s worst nightmare etc etc), but he is not a pushover, and so he doesn’t miss a beat when they pull apart, and plants a swift kiss onto his husband’s lips. He smirks triumphantly when Iwaizumi blinks in surprise. Two can play the game.

Iwaizumi turns to him and, with a deliberate, scary sort of slowness, works his features into a meltingly insincere smile that says, oh, this is on.

.

The mission is a resounding success. The only problem is—

“You broke two of your ribs, had half a tooth knocked out and your neck half fractured,” Kuroo says, scanning the report five days later.

Oikawa nods.

“All of which were given to you by your partner,” Kuroo continues, incredulous. He looks up at Oikawa, looking uncharacteristically mind-boggled for once. “And is that a bite mark on your arm?”

Oikawa shrugs, tries to play it cool, or as cool as one can get while having half his body patched up and the other half covered in rolls of bandage. “I gave Iwa-chan two long bone fractures and a dislocated shoulder. That should make us even.”

“Incredible,” Kuroo says. “We have finally found someone who can match up to your senseless violence.”

One tiny, miniscule masochistic part at the back of his brain revels at the knowledge, but Oikawa doesn’t betray anything except for a dismissive shrug. No one has to know.

.

.

.

iii.

The third time they meet is by actual, genuine accident.

“Hey babe,” Iwaizumi says, and all but tackles him into the grass when they cross paths two months later in a random park. He tugs at the back of Oikawa head and lowers it in one swift motion, before pulling him into a passionate kiss that cause mothers nearby to cover the eyes of their children hastily.

“Guy to your 9 o’ clock. Some big shot drug dealer in the Mafia,” he says to his lips. This never gets old; Oikawa thinks he really ought to hate it, but he doesn't. 

“What a surprise,” Oikawa says. “Guy in red, behind the fountain. Chinese spy.”

He slings one arm over Iwa-chan’s shoulders and they start to make their way around the park.

“So,” Oikawa says, by way of conversation. “Headcount this month?”

“Nine,” Iwaizumi replies a little smugly, and puts on his most charming smile like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like he isn’t the spawn of satan. Around them, people stare and chuckle knowingly at the ‘attractive, young couple whispering sweet nothings to each other.’

“Twelve,” Oikawa says, not bothering to keep the smugness out of his voice. “You’re getting soft, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi clasps onto his hand in a way that definitely merits a visit to the doctor’s for an x-ray the next day. “How wonderful,  _ darling _ ,” he says through clenched teeth. They’ve reached a reasonably isolated place in the park, and they’ve lost the drug dealer, but from the corner of Oikawa’s eyes he spots the Chinese spy closing the distance between them, followed by three other men behind him.

Iwaizumi looks around, and, after making sure that the area is clear of civilians, drops his hands like his is nine and believes in cooties again. “You know,” he says casually, pulling out a revolver from underneath his shirt, “I’ll pull ahead if I take all four of them out.”

Oikawa smiles like a demon possessed.

.

.

. 

iv.

The next time they meet is four weeks later, separated by a glass panel and surrounded by white, blinding hospital walls.

Iwa-chan is lying on the hospital bed, all subdued and quiet for once. Not that he can speak, what with being hooked up to a million wires and a row of fancy looking machines.

“Who,” Oikawa asks Kuroo, making sure to sound real casual, “did this?”

Kuroo looks at him. It is testament to their six years of semi-decent friendship, forged out of mutual antagonism, and some coffee dates, that Kuroo scowls and slowly says, “I won’t let you go after them, the higher ups will kill me. It’s too dangerous.”

The next day Oikawa goes back to work, fuming, his mind running through a million cruel pranks that can send Kuroo, if not straight to his grave, at least into a state of utter pain and embarrassment and suffering. He opens his drawer to take out a pen, and instead finds a single black file that has been slipped in innocuously.

Well. Oikawa flips open the file, and makes a mental note to temporarily withhold the pranks, and maybe bring in some coffee, just for the time being.

.

“I can’t believe you,” Iwa-chan seethes a week later, when their roles are reversed and he’s lying on the bed, trying not to move so much as a hair lest his liver slips right out of the gaping, open wound on his abdomen or something. Iwa-chan’s hairs is plastered flat to his skull on one side and sticking straight up on the other, but the post-operative anaesthesia must be doing a manner of unspeakable things to Oikawa’s brain because he finds him - god forbid - almost striking.  _ And they’re still in the  _ **_hospital_ ** _. _

He’s not so far gone, yet, though. Oikawa smiles, ignores the metallic liquid bubbling in his mouth and says with aggravating slowness, all smug gloating like he isn’t completely bed-bound and missing a quarter of his liver, “now I’ve pulled ahead enough to cover an entire month.”

.

.

.

v.

“I can’t believe this,” Kuroo says, and Oikawa thinks that this is really getting old because it is the ninth time Kuroo has said it since he’d paired Oikawa up with Iwaizumi Hajime for the first time two years ago.

“You’ve incurred ten thousand dollars worth of damages in a restaurant in Beijing. Our target was a man living in the middle of Saudi Arabia. What the  _ fuck _ were you doing in a restaurant in Beijing?” Kuroo regards the bill in his hand with something akin to hysterical despair, and sounds every bit like a man who no longer has it in him to be deal with the world.

“It was a detour. I wanted to propose to him.”

The lighter Kuroo has been idly flicking falls out of his hand with a quiet clatter and sets the papers on the desk on fire within seconds. Oikawa swiftly grabs a jar of water nearby and puts the fire out, before throwing the remaining half-jug of water onto Kuroo’s face on second thought. You know, just in case.

“You proposed to him,” Kuroo splutters, with nary a care for the water dripping down his face.

“He threw a little tantrum because apparently I proposed wrongly,” Oikawa says by way of explanation. It’s puzzling, really - he’d bought a ring, dragged Iwa-chan into a fancy restaurant, flung said ring onto the table and proposed with something along the lines of ‘marry me, you Neanderthal’, and Iwa-chan had reacted with somewhat unexpected rage. And then he’d dropped to one knee muttering obscenities about planning wasted. At least the ring that warms his left ring finger is pretty.

“He said yes eventually, though, after proposing to me too,” Oikawa continues, cheerfully, ignoring the stunned look on Kuroo’s face. “You’ll give us unpaid leave and subsidise our wedding, won’t you? It says so in the contract.”

.

They last twenty minutes into their wedding which, for Oikawa’s standards and their combined track record, is pretty impressive.

“So, where do we go,” Oikawa says, after Iwaizumi stormed out in the middle of his vow to care for him ‘through sickness, health, and his future inevitable degeneration into a gorilla’. “We’re supposed to go for a honeymoon, you know.”

Iwaizumi turns around and looks at him, and under the soft glow of midday sun the sharp of his eyes appears to be lined with something almost tender. Almost. “Wherever!”

“I hear that the thugs are pretty active in Peru at this time of the year,” Oikawa begins, and his Iwa-chan yells, “let’s go!”

.

.

.

vi.

It takes them all of two months, sixteen combined fractures, and an obscene bill for damage-related compensation that sends Kuroo almost tendering his resignation seven times, but eventually they make it home. 


End file.
